Plane to Freedom
by Starless Flight
Summary: When Bella got on that plane to get away from her abusive stepfather she had no idea what she would find at her father's. But she definitely wasn't expecting the Cullens. Smart, independent, kick ass Bella!
1. Chapter 1

Flight to Freedom Ch. 1 -

My 17th birthday was seven months away, and I'm already a fugitive. Shame I couldn't have made it through the summer before my junior year. I guess I should explain, my name is Bella Swan, and five hours ago I ran away from my mother and stepfather.

I'm currently sitting on a plane, have been for about ten minutes now, and their announcing their final call for passengers. My fingers tapped my leg nervously, desperate to be on the move.

Why, you may be asking, have I run? Why am I nervous? And why in the seven levels of hell does my face have a bruise the size of Texas on it? I can answer them all in one, my stepfather has anger issues, and my mother's a coward. Some would call it abuse, tell me to go to the cops, but I'm in fully acknowledged denial.

There no other kids in the house, so no one else is in danger (Phil loves mom too much to hurt her) and really, it's not Phil's fault. Well, maybe a tad. You see, Phil was diagnosed with lung cancer 14 months ago, and the chemo hit him hard. If you've ever been around someone whose on chemo you'll know what I mean. That stuff screws with your emotions. The first six months, when he was on treatments every other week, things were alright (though he was more irritable, but really, if I was being drugged constantly I'd be a bit pissy too). When the treatments upped though, that's when the abuse started.

No, he didn't just wake up one day and decide to hit me, tonight was the only time he had actually, but this started the events that led up to it.

**Flashback**

"Isabella, I need you to clean the kitchen, dishes, moping, everything. We're having company tonight." My mother told me absently, as she painted the apple in the bowl of fruit she was trying so hard to replicate. I winced at the use of my full name, I mean really Isabella? Ew…

Sighing at the thought of yet another day cleaning (we'd been preparing for a week, or rather, _I'd_ been preparing while my mom painted fruit – horribly). I set down my book (Pride and Prejudice – hellooo, Mr. Darcy, mmm-mm)! and went into the kitchen, gaping at the shear amount of dishes from just last night, which had been mom and Phil's anniversary (explaining the ungodly mess that awaited me). The dishes were overflowing from the sink. The plates, which hadn't been rinsed, had dry sauce and food caking them, and the glasses, which had held everything from chocolate milk to wine, were everywhere!

My stomach turned, and perhaps I felt just a little resentment toward my mother, who never bothered to offer help. Who only called me when she wanted something done, or when I was being "Fresh" as she liked to call it. Who seemed to have taken me from my dad only for the personal house elf she got out of the deal (oh yeah, Harry Potter, I just went there)! If I had friends, they would call me Dobby…

So like a good little house elf, I cleaned… and cleaned… and cleaned.

I finished thirty minutes before their guest were set to arrive (6:30), just when Phil walked in the front door actually, I thought, as I heard him greet my mother. I sat back on my heels and sighed, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. I stood and gave the sparkling surfaces, one last look of pride, before turning to go to my room. Only to come face to face to Phil, who had had a bad day from the looks of it. His cold gaze swept the kitchen, before flaring up with anger.

"You call this cleaning!" he shouted, "Did you even sweep before you mopped? It looks like the floor is brown, not white." And on he ranted; I blinked back tears and waited for the verbal assault to end, before looking at him coldly and turning to walk slowly up the stairs.

_Not run, oh no_, I told myself;_ walk_. And so I did: all the way up the stairs to my room; where I gently closed the door, walked calmly to my bed, sat down, and cried.-All the while wondering, why my mother, who had been standing right behind Phil, hadn't said anything.

And the fleeting idea of resentment from this morning solidified in my gut.

**End Flashback**

It had all been verbal, after that night Phil seemed to find that the tongue lashings he gave me made him feel just a bit better. So he started doing it when he was mad, then whenever something went wrong, and then whenever I was in sight. And my mom stood there and let him…

The small pebble of resentment from that night soon grew to a boulder, crushing me from the inside, until tonight when it suddenly didn't matter anymore…

**Flashback 2**

I gave the figurine one last dusting, pausing on my way out to scan the room for anything out of place. Seeing nothing, I turned and grabbed my coat, not wanting to be here when Phil got home. I'd been leaving every night now for the last two months. In the first week I'd been doing it, I'd made friends with an owner if an old motel, about a mile (which I'd taken to running) away from my house. She was a nice old lady, and let me stay in the lobby late, until I was pretty sure Phil was in bed (around 1 is when I left).

She didn't ask questions, but she had a knowing glint in her eyes that all abused kids had. The acknowledgement of another sufferer, which never went away, even if you were too young to remember the abuse itself. Because what your mind didn't remember, your body had lived, and what your body had lived, your instincts knew.

So in return, I didn't ask her questions; just tidied up the lobby and kept an eye on things until I had to go back to the house.

Tonight, on my way out, I saw my mother come into the room out of the corner of my eye, a glass of coke in hand.A siren blasted somewhere in the streets, startling her so badly she dropped the glass, and I vaguely registered the liquid seeping into the carpet as I opened the front door. My mind however, was too busy thinking about leaving before Phil got there to remember that I would be expected to clean that up. So the door closed behind me, and I started running to my safe haven.

#^$#^&^#%*&$*^%&(*&(%$%^#

It was 1:09 when I jogged up to the front door of my house, my breath coming out in small gasps. I turned the key, and opened the door quietly, then closed it just as carefully. I began walking over to the stairs, only to notice the living room light was on. Curious, I walked over to the door and peeked in.

Phil and my mother were there, and they saw me. Phil went an unnatural shade of red, and he started screaming "YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO COME BACK HERE! YOU-YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING FREELOADING BRAT!" It probably would have gone on normally like that, had my restraint not finally broken.

"Will you shut up, you slave driving piece of shit. The whole neighborhood will be deaf by the end of the night because of your mellow-dramatic PMS-ing." I said when he paused for breath.

I didn't mean to say it, before; such comments had had the decency to stay in my head. Tonight however, this particular one seemed desperate to jump out of my mouth. Time seemed to freeze, and for some reason, I desperately wanted to run, but my legs and heart weren't cooperating.

Then, there was a swirl of colors, and I was on the floor with the left side of my face aching and blood pouring from my lip. I looked up, and Phil looked just as surprised as I was. His fist was still raised, and his mouth seemed to have lost its ability to shut. I looked at my mom, and she looked at me, but did nothing.

My heart hardened with my eyes, and I knew, that I would never have anything to do with these people again. I. Was. _Done_!

I stood, not taking my eyes off of Phil's hands, which had dropped to his sides. I spit out a glob of blood onto their precious carpet, right at Phil's feet before turning a running, for the first time, to my room. I slammed the door, locked it, and began shoving clothes into a backpack. I grabbed my hairbrush off my dresser, all of my savings out from under my bed, and the key my dad had sent me a year ago, with a note saying I could come whenever I needed to.

Then I opened my window, climbed out and ran to the airport, never looking back.

**End Flashback 2 **

So here I was, sitting on a plane to Seattle, thankful I had been able to get a ticket. We suddenly started moving, and the attendant reminded us to buckle up.

Then we were in the air, and peanuts and soda were being passed out. When the attendant reached me she paused at my bruised face and tentatively scabbed and swollen lip."Are you alright Miss?" she asked.

I smiled sadly, and said,"No, but hopfully I will be..."

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Hundreds of miles away, a small vampire looked up in surprise, her bronze headed brother copying her.

"Who was that?" he asked.

A pause followed,

_I have no idea_… was the answering thought.

**_So… good? Bad? Continue, or not? GIVE ME FEEDBACK HERE! AKA click the damn buttons! You know it's fun!_ :) **


	2. Chapter 2

The plane had landed, and I'd never thought I would love to see the cloudy, wet surroundings of Washington.

I was far away from Arizona, and hopefully I'd never go back to that state.

My bruises had faded into a dull, constant throbbing; which the cool air had soothed as soon as I'd stepped outside. Almost like a comforting hug, telling me I was safe now. I felt my dislike for the cold and wet melt away, morphing into the feeling of being home. I smiled, despite the twinge it cause the left side of my face, and the bead of blood that appeared on my lip.

I opened my eyes and looked at the bustling Seattle streets. The fog that always seemed to hang over Washington like a thick blanket; the street lights glowing steadily, and the people on the streets seemed as if they had all the time in the world. Never rushing anywhere, with easy going smiles always lingering on the edges of their mouths; it was comforting.

The cab I had arrange for in the airport chose that moment to pull up, the passenger window rolling down as the driver asked "Miss Swan?"

"That's me." I said happily, climbing into the back with my backpack.

"Where to Miss?" he said, giving me an easy smile.

"462 Lindion Lane, Forks, please." I told him, eager to see my dad. I handed him the money when he told me the price, and off we went.

"So, Forks, huh? Whatcha headin' there for?" the cabbie asked.

I laughed and answered, "I'm goin' to see my dad." My accent of the North West coming out with hearing the others around me using it.

The cabbie gave a chuckle as he observed, "Yur packed awfully light for a trip."

"I guess you could say I left in a hurry." I said wryly.

He grinned and said, "Everyone seems to take a trip like that in their teens. It's part of life for alot of kids."

My face became serious as I nodded and gave a whispered "yeah..."

The rest of the trip past in silence, so I spent my time gazing out the window, watching the scenery pass by in a blur of green. The 'Welcome to Forks' sign caught my eyes as when passed into the tiny town. My nerves suddenly decided that this was a good time to kick in, and my stomach twisted violently. The cabbie seemed to notice my sudden change in demeanor; because I saw his eyes soften with sympathy in his rearview mirror.

Before I knew it we had pulled up to the small blue house that belong to my dad. I looked at it apprehensively as I got out of the cab. I took a hesitant step towards the porch when the cabbie's voice made me turn around.

"Hey kid," he said, "I've seen alot of kids head out hoping for somethin' better. Alot of em' don't find what their lookin for, so I just wanted to say, good luck." with that he drove away and I gave a whispered "thank you" to the retreating yellow car.

I turned back to the porch. It was around 12, so I knew my dad was at the station and wouldn't be home till around four, since it was a Sunday. I couldn't bring myself to go in though. I wanted to make sure I was still welcomed before I went inside. So I took my hand away from the doorknob and sat myself down on the top step, leaning against the support beam, as I prepared for the longwait ahead of me.

I must have dozed off, because I woke up to the car pulling into the drive way. My dad got out of the crusier, looking confused as I stood up and he saw me. He walked forward hesitantly, his eyes leaving mine and traveling to the bruise marring my face. He reached out, and gently laid his palm against it, asking, "Bells?"

It was the nickname that broke me. I let out a choked "Daddy." and threw my self into his arms; hugging him tightly and crying into his shoulder. I felt his arms encircle me, his right hand coming up to stroke my hair like he had done when I was little.

"Shhh," he said gently, "you're alright now, you're gonna be alright." I just sobbed harder, blubbering out an "i'm sorry" before I couldn't speak through the tears. He continued his soothing words as I effectively ruined his jacket.

"I'm here, Bells, I'm here." he told me, making me cry all the more.

He reached down and grabbed my bag with one hand, keeping the other around my shoulders as he led me into the house. He set me on the couch as he went into the kitchen as got some hot co-co (the one thing he could make) and handed it to me as he sat down and waited for me to explain; exactly like when I was little. I managed a watery smile, as I took a small sip of the co-co.

I spilled, and told him everything that had happened form when Phil was diagnosed to when I got on the plane. He listened intently, doing his best to stay calm, despite the rage I could see as I described their actions, especially last night's. It was comforting to see, knowing it wasn't directed at me but rather for me. When I finished I was crying again, so he let me ruin the other shoulder of his jacket as I cried myself to sleep, relaxing into the comforting hug.

^($^&$%^#$%^%$*^&(&^*))&)%^&$^%#$%!%#%^#^$^&$^%#%$^&

My dad must have carried me upstairs because I woke up in my old room, tucked into a fluffy bed. I snuggled down deeper, but reluctantly got up after a few minutes. Heading downstairs to where I could hear my dad shuffling about.

I found him in the kitchen, pulling a big Stouffer's Mac n' Cheese out of the oven. He saw me in the doorway and gave me a smile.

"Hey hells Bells." he told me. I grinned at him and said "Hey mad dad."

He let out a chuckle at that.

"I'm surprised you remember that, you were so little when you made that up." he said.

"It's one of my favorite memories." I told him, smiling fondly as I remembered him taking me over to the station and teaching me how to shoot. I was seven at the time.

One of the other officers had called him crazy for letting a little girl touch a gun, let alone shoot one. My dad had wave him off like he was an idiot and said to me "now remember Bells, if a guy attacks you shoot em'..." "where it counts!" I finished grinning. The other officer shuddered and muttered something about abnormal and demon children.

My dad grinned and stated proudly, "that's right, my little Hells Bells, will reek havoc!" I let out a giggle, liking the nickname.

"And it'll all be thanks to my mad Dad!" I said with delight, pleased with my rhythm scheme. My Dad laughed and mussed up my hair affectionately.

"That's my girl." he said as the other officer slowly shook his head and walked away.

I shook my head and came back to the present.

"You know, Officer Yorkie is still terrified of you since he overheard our conversation of you using him for target practice." my dad stated with relish. I giggled and said "I still think it's a good idea."

My dad seemed to contemplate this for a minute, "As long as you use the paintball gun, I don't see a problem with it." he said grinning. "Just don't get caught." I jumped up with triumph, laughing all the while.

"By the way Bells, you're starting school at Forks High a week from tomorrow."

I stared at him in shock "how did you get Renee to agree to let me stay?" He gave a devious, if not slightly angry smile and replied "blackmail."

I left it at that.

**I want Bella to have a better relationship with her Dad in this plot line. She'll be more tomboyish and outgoing as well and much less dependent on Edward. **


End file.
